Wednesday, December 9, 2009

I'm sorry about the way things went at your appointment yesterday. I guess you and I just didn't have great chemistry.

I can understand you being frustrated with me. Obviously, a man of your means is used to people kissing his ass constantly. But here at Grumpy Neurology, it doesn't buy you much. Let's face it, Medicare pays me the same amount to put up with you as it pays me to put up with Mr. Nice Butpoor. If you were paying me $1000/hour to listen to your stories about the yacht club I might be more inclined to do so. But I'm only going to get Medicare's flat $115 for you, and my billing company gets 10% of that, and I have to pay Mary, Annie, my rent, the Diet Coke bill, and my malpractice insurance out of the rest.

Anyway, we were obviously off to a bad start when you told Mary that your regular doctor (who you pay cash to) dresses up for you. And this was before you even had a look at me. You also were not happy that, when you asked Mary what kind of refreshments we offer for waiting patients, she pointed to the water cooler.

I SO enjoyed being grilled over my credentials. I really am a doctor, I swear, not some homeless person who decided to rent an office, hire some staff, and buy some cheap office furniture just for the hell of it. You were clearly not impressed that I went through public schooling most of my life. Of course I've heard of your alma mater, but it was so much more fun to watch the horrified expression on your face when I pretended I hadn't, and then asked you if it was in Arkansas. The devil made me do, what else can I say?

I think we reached the low point during the appointment when, after I'd spent 30 minutes taking your windy history, and another 20 minutes examining you, your heavily plasticized wife (who may be putting arsenic in your prunes- watch out) asked me "So when will the doctor come in to talk to us?" That made me feel real special.

So when I heard you tell Mary that you didn't want to schedule a follow-up with me, and wanted to discuss matters with your internist, I knew this translated to "I'm never coming back here and am complaining to my internist about you". And guess what? I don't care.

Be careful the automatic door doesn't hit... oh, sorry, guess I should have warned you sooner.

I am so afraid that anything I say to my doctor will somehow end up on a blog.. Now I KNOW this guy was an a-hole... but are there any patients that you have a nice chat with??

Just asking - I was at my gastroentologist (sp?) yesterday and we were chatting during the exam about Tiger W., travel plans, my kids... then I thought, oh NO - this guys gonna think I'm an a-hole... Please tell me some of your patients are nice and you enjoy speaking to them....???

One of the most brillant doctors I know is the head of Critical Care at our local hospital. He dress like he just rolled out of bed with his suit on. If you saw him in the hospital, one would think he's somone's grand father who is lost.

The gentleman is wickedly smart and such a wonderful person, even if his suit coat, pants and shoes barely match.

You dodged another bullet by Mr. Oxygen Stealing leaving in a snit. Who wants to be dealing with that bullshit all the time?

on a random note, do you know how I can get an invitation to read Nurse K's blog? my whole world pretty much imploded when I clicked on her blog and it said I wasn't invited to read her blog *sob* can you help me, Dr Grumpy?

HA HA HA!! I think you might have been speaking to my ex (yay me!) father-in-law. Sounds exactly like how he would have handled things being the retired chief of anesthesiology schooled at Harvard. I wish I'd thought of the Arkansas response, but he would have just called me stupid to my face. Go, Dr. Grumpy!!

"Can you believe that idiot so called doctor, thinking MY alma mater is in Arkansas? I'm surprised we even allow Arkansas to still be in the Union."

What doctor even allows refreshments in their office? Between keeping people fasting for labs,the whole food allergy issue, and people are usually pretty piggy while eating, you are too kind even having water.

The only way to have possibly topped his experience would have been to enter the room eating cold spagghettios- from the can- with a spork (oh and yes, have a bit dribbled down your shirt and on the corner of your mouth!)

You should have Mary call him precisely sixty seven times to "remind" him to schedule his follow up appointment. Bwahahahaha!

LMAO! Such a *perfect* response to the alma mater point...there's nothing an educated snob hates more than to encounter someone who hasn't heard of his school. And, in my experience, the best docs don't give a rat's ass about what they're wearing--they're too busy taking care of their patients to notice if they've spilled diet coke on their clothes. :-)

Oh dear me, I think I might have had Mr. Azzholl IV as my patient yesterday. His overly plasticized mother was doting on him to the point of creepiness and hovering around the nursing station like she owned the damn place. I wish I was as quick-witted as you to come up with the college response. Next time, and sadly there will be plenty of next times.

This guy is clearly a nouveau-riche arriviste who has money but no class. People who have "arrived" don't have to flaunt it; they're busy living their lives. Perfect comparison to Mr. Howell of Gilligan's island. As the other poster said, you dodged a bullet not having to see this loser anymore.

He's also an argument for making Medicare sliding-scale, i.e. if he has *that* much money, let him pay for health care in cash at all times. DoG knows Medicare is in enough trouble; we could use his portion to support the larger population.

Oh, hilarious! Some of your commentators mentioned brilliant doctors who couldn't care less what they look like because they're too focused on practicing medicine. That's my now-retired rheumatologist/rare lupus specialist Dad!We always teased him about his tacky, cheap clothes. His patients and colleagues had the utmost respect for his medical expertise, however. And, I can't believe how sharp and bold you are to mention the Arkansas school comment. Brilliant! How do you keep a straight face?

As a veterinarian, I've gotten the dreaded "Do you know who I am?" more than once from clients. Most of the time I truly don't. In general, I think the clients who drop me because they don't get special treatment are offset by those clients who employ me precisely for that reason.

Ok, my first clue was when he asked when the doc was going to come in and see him.

Alzheimers!

(Am I right?) Also the inappropriate comments and demands.

Or, he's just rude. There should be an icd-9 code for that, and you should receive extra reimbursement for spending 30 minutes face-to-face counseling a patient who is afflicted with rudeness.

I've found that there are many people who play the rich game (like the Obama party crashers) who are NOT rich. Maybe they once were or they know the culture well, or they were born into it or aspire to it, but they've not really done as well financially as they'd like you to believe. And they're the biggest flaunters of pseudo wealth--they wave it around to distract you from their sad, sad truth. And, no, the sadness isn't from the fact that they're not rich, as it is that being rich is the only thing that matters to them. THAT is sad.

I'm a pharmacist who used to blog occasionally about people who smell bad or who squirted me with their used nasal steroid bottles, or who screamed to try to get me to fill their brand-name Vicodin early, etc. Yes, most people are really great, and some of these are noteworthy, but the people most fun to blog about are the crazy aywholes. Or the complete dimwhits.

Hey Doc, after reading your response to The Good Cook, I got to thinking...maybe one day, just to change things up, you SHOULD do a blog post about a perfectly normal visit from a patient. In this context, the humor would still be there, I think.

So Azzhole's regular doctor dresses up for him, 'ey? As a French-Maid? Dominatrix? One of the Village People characters? Guess that's why he has to pay cash. Medicare won't cover that kinky shit, will it?

As far as refreshments, the least you could have done was offer him a Diet Coke. A warm one, shook up real good.

When a client says "do you know who I am?" I usually reply with something along the lines of "of course - you're Fang's owner". That tends to confuse them, and no one can say it's a rude or unprofessional reply!

Welcome to my whining!

This blog is entirely for entertainment purposes. All posts about patients may be fictional, or be my experience, or were submitted by a reader, or any combination of the above. Factual statements may or may not be accurate.

Singing Foo!

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